


Tender is the Night

by parkersjjj



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aromantic Mycroft Holmes, Aromantic Sherlock Holmes, Asexual Mycroft Holmes, Asexual Sherlock Holmes, Brotherly Love, Confused Sherlock Holmes, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Gen, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Mycroft is Sweet, Mycroft is a Softie, Post-Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Protective Mycroft, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25259851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkersjjj/pseuds/parkersjjj
Summary: “I am quite surprised you called me, brother dear,” the elder Holmes brother spoke up in a soft and quiet voice – and without a hint of sarcasm toward his brother for once. It sounded rather strange to hear the affection in Mycroft’s voice. It was, nevertheless, comforting.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 136





	Tender is the Night

“When you’re older you’ll know what people who love suffer. The agony. It’s better to be cold and young than to love. It’s happened to me before but never like this – so accidental – just when everything was going well.”

– F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night

“I am quite surprised you called me, brother dear,” the elder Holmes brother spoke up in a soft and quiet voice – and without a hint of sarcasm toward his brother for once. It sounded rather strange to hear the affection in Mycroft’s voice. It was, nevertheless, comforting.

“Hmm, I can tell,” Sherlock agreed with a tiny nod.

It was, in fact, Sherlock who called Mycroft in the middle of the night – as peculiar as it sounded. Sherlock did not enjoy the wedding party and since his role as John’ s “best man” was done, he had no more reason to stick around; such a party had never been Sherlock’s scene in the first place. He only _endured_ it for John’ s sake – and it didn’ t seem to matter so much anymore now. That awkward smile the flatmates shared was terribly embarrassing.

Sherlock couldn’t stand it any longer.

“But you have been waiting for me – why is that?”

It was hard not to ask – because when Sherlock called, the older brother only said that he had been waiting; as if he could _tell_ Sherlock would need the ride; _his_ ride.

“What kind of a brother would I be if I couldn’t support my brother, Sherlock?” Mycroft’s hands were placed steadily on the steering wheel – yes, he even drove himself; what an effort for such person who hated legwork so much.

“Support, you say,” Sherlock even chuckled at this as he leaned his back against the seat comfortably – the luxury of having a rich brother came with nice cars, “and you even drove here by yourself. What would Anthea say?”

“Oh dear, I drive occasionally when I need my privacy. Anthea knows all about it,” the big brother gave a small smile, “and you wouldn’ t even talk to me if there were somebody else.”

“Point taken,” Sherlock couldn’t argue, “where are we going tonight?”

“Mine. Unless you want to go back to your flat?” It was a question; as always. Mycroft always left options for his brother – always.

“Yours is fine,” Sherlock rubbed his eyes with his palms, feeling utterly exhausted, “I’m tired. I want a nice comfy bed.”

“I can tell, dear,” Mycroft shook his head, his eyes staring straight ahead; he had always been a careful driver, “How was it though? You managed to survive, that I can tell.”

Then Sherlock told Mycroft everything; from the maddening crowd to the messy speech he almost couldn’ t finish; and then the crime that came up out of nowhere; finally, the pregnancy. It was all a mess – a big mess. It left Sherlock completely drained.

“You really should’ve come,” Sherlock murmured once they finally reached Mycroft’s home, “I’m serious, Mycroft. John would be grateful, Mary wouldn’t mind it – and Lestrade, hmm, Lestrade would be rather happy.”

“Why would Mr. Lestrade be happy for my presence again?”

Sherlock didn’t reply, but rather answered his brother with a cheeky, boyish smile of his own as they finally entered the house.

Mycroft couldn’t quite call it ‘home’ because it was too melancholic – anybody could tell. Nobody lived here with him, and his brother rarely ever visited – well, he did visit more often now; but it still felt isolated. Mycroft hoped to have his brother around more, too. The boyish manner of Sherlock brightened this sad place.

“Have you eaten, dear brother?” Sherlock asked as he sat down on one of Mycroft’s soft sofas. Why did Mycroft have so many, anyway, when no one ever visited him?

“You hungry?”

“No, I’m asking about _you_.”

“Oh, yes, I have. But the night’s still young. Drinks?”

“Just tea for now. I’ve had some at the wedding.”

Mycroft nodded and went to prepare some tea. As he left the water boiling, he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mycroft asked in an even softer tone, “You wouldn’t call me if everything were fine. What is it, brother mine?”

“I –” Sherlock wetted his lips nervously, looking down at his feet. He was still in his outfit, minus the suit, “I don’t know. It just – felt strange, brother. John’s married now. What next? They are having a baby. They are becoming parents, Mycroft. And where does that leave _me_?”

 _Ah,_ Mycroft thought, _so the marriage of Doctor Watson and Mrs. Watson has been bothering him. I wonder if there is more to this – is it attraction? Or merely attachment? Is he feeling abandoned or jealous?_

“I can hear you thinking over there, Mycroft,” Sherlock almost pouted at his brother; the child in him had never grown, “go get us both some nice, expensive tea, dear.”

And Mycroft did just that. He knew exactly how his brother liked his tea and even wondered if John Watson had ever gotten it right – he doubted that.

It was no secret that Mycroft felt so _strongly_ for his brother; affectionate, possessive, and even worried. And he knew that Sherlock, too, felt the same. They were hateful toward each other in public – and that was what saved Sherlock from his end; quite literally. It was beneficial for both of them – Sherlock wouldn’ t survive Moriarty’s game if the public knew the true nature of their relationship, and Mycroft would be paranoid to the day he was six feet underground because his baby brother would become the target – not that many people knew Mycroft’s face, but there were many enough. The Holmes brothers took the secure path.

It was fine – on days like this night, they could show their true feelings; free from fear.

“Is it jealousy?” Mycroft questioned, placing their mugs down on the table and taking the seat next to his brother, “Or just that you feel lost now because you are attached to him?”

Sherlock did not answer right away; he took a sip from his tea instead.

“Hm, you remember just what I like, huh?” There was a glimpse of playfulness in Sherlock’s eyes before it faded completely and was replaced by something even Mycroft could not point out exactly what it was, “ _Sentimental_ , brother. I cannot quite put it… I’m sure it’s not jealousy though. Why would I be jealous? You, brother dear, are the only person who knows exactly _what_ I am.”

It was true – Sherlock had never told anyone else. Not that he needed to anyway.

“I only want to make sure, brother mine. _Silly me._ ”

“But what happens after one’s married? Mrs. Hudson said everything would change, but why? Why would it change?”

The confusion poured out from every inch of Sherlock’s body – clearly, Sherlock had no understanding of this matter. And Mycroft? No, he himself couldn’ t quite understand either.

“I’m afraid I cannot answer this question, dear. Even big brother doesn’t understand everything – as you, _too_ , know my true nature.”

It was what tightened the bond between the two brothers. Ever since they were children, the Holmes brothers never quite understood romance – love, they could understand; but _never_ romance. So many questions had been asked – Father and Mummy had grown tired of them.

“Ah, we are both hopeless, Mycroft. Think about it – the two Holmes who cannot understand this aspect of life. What a shame.”

“What a shame, indeed.”

Sherlock went silent for a long time, just sipping his tea. Then, to Mycroft’s surprise, he put his head on Mycroft’s shoulder – not that Mycroft was repulsed by such action; he was merely surprised. Sherlock could read it in Mycroft’s eyes when their gazes met.

“It felt like… when I thought Irene Adler was dead,” Sherlock furrowed and huffed, “but _this_ is stronger.”

“Feeling like you’ve lost something, I suppose?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock agreed, “but why? Why do I feel that way?”

“Perhaps you feel _something_ for John Watson?”

“But it is _not_ love,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Oh, I know, my dear boy. I know that it’s not love, but it’s something, correct?”

“Something… _stronger_ than friendship.”

“But not strong enough to evolve into something _more_?”

“Perhaps I should think more about this – it’s not something one can decide overnight, is it?”

Mycroft knew that too well. He also knew that Sherlock only needed his support and validation; to know that his big brother would always be there for him. And Mycroft would make sure of that – it was the most he could do for his brother although Mycroft had vowed to do _anything_ for Sherlock Holmes the day he was born into the world.

“There’s no need to rush, Sherlock.”

And Mycroft’s support meant the world to Sherlock. He knew that Mycroft would always be there for him no matter what; would always be there to catch him when he had fallen, when he couldn’ t find a way out. He knew that no matter what he did or where he went, he would see Mycroft just a few steps behind if he looked back.

“I hope John won’t throw me away.”

“I doubt he will, Sherlock. He’s rather loyal, isn’t he? A good friend, I’d say.”

“Lestrade is loyal too.”

“ _Why_ are you mentioning the Detective Inspector so awfully often these days?”

“Oh, it’s _nothing_ , brother dear.”

“Whatever,” Mycroft sighed and shook his head, “Are you staying the night?”

“Mhmm, yes.”

“Shall we get some rest then? I still have to wake up early in the morning. Work.”

Sherlock let out a soft chuckle when he realised how much his brother hated his work – or rather _the people_ he worked with.

“Another date with Lady Smallwood?”

“Don’t you ever mention her name here,” Mycroft groaned as he helped Sherlock up to his feet, “You know where things are. Have a good rest, brother.”

“You, too.”

Mycroft smiled at his brother; his eyes filled with adoration for his baby brother. He leaned closer and placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock’s forehead before combing Sherlock’s hair lovingly with his long fingers.

“Goodnight, brother mine. I’ll see you in the morning before I leave for work – if not, I’ll leave a note and some breakfast for you. You’re free to stay for as long as you need, but it might be boring for you to be here alone… Feel free to use whatever here. What’s mine is also yours.”

Then the Holmes brothers went separate ways – Mycroft to his bedroom, and Sherlock to the other bedroom. This was enough to help Sherlock cope through another night.

The next morning, the two brothers had breakfast together before Mycroft leaving for work and Sherlock back to 221B Baker Street.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if this will turn into chapters...  
> anyway, my twitter is @fluffcone


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